


The Feral Alpha

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [33]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale's Alpha Form, Dubious Consent, Feral Behavior, Feral Derek Hale, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Manhandling, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mating Bites, Mental Instability, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex In A Cave, Size Difference, Top Derek Hale, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.





	The Feral Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> As always with this series, don't judge me for the depravity I have written…
> 
> What are internal organs?

Derek's day starts as every day does. He wakes up in the cave he calls home, hunts some game for breakfast and then travels the short distance to the stream nearby to wash the blood from his black fur. His ears perk up atop his head as he makes sure there is no one else around. As a werewolf, he can hear over great distances, a trait that is even stronger when transformed into his alpha form. He always is nowadays, doesn't even remember the last time he'd shifted back to human, so he doesn't worry too much about being spotted. He'll hear anyone before they get too close.

Once the blood is gone from his fur, claws and muzzle, Derek lies down next to the stream and lets the sunlight shining down on him to dry him off.

He thinks while he waits.

His thoughts come in fragments, in short clumsily-formed sentences and words like _warm_ , _full_ and _alone_. Derek hasn't had what one would call a proper human thought in a long time, not since his family was murdered by hunters and his life became this. At first he'd retreated into the wilderness to lick his wounds and plan his revenge, but as more time passed and his grief and loneliness became too much, threatening to consume him entirely, he pushed down his human half and all the emotions that went with it and let the wolf take over.

It was easier that way, less painful for his heart and better for his sanity.

What little sanity he'd had left, anyway.

Derek doesn't know for sure how long he has been living this empty, animalistic life, but it has to have been years. The only things he can use to judge the passage of time are the seasons. It had been warm and bright for a while and the days were long, but now things are changing again. The sun shows up for shorter stretches of time and the leaves on the trees are starting to turn from green to a mixture of yellow, red and brown. The temperature is dropping too. He may not think like a human anymore, but Derek still remembers enough to know that it must be fall.

He closes his eyes and tries to block out all thought, but he quickly discovers that this is a very bad idea when images appear behind his eyelids—flashbacks of red blood and fire and smoke, the sound of gunfire filling his ears as his family is cut down one by one around him in the very backyard in which he used to gambol about with his sisters when they were children. Every member of his family gone in the space of a single minute. It was his dad who told him to run, grabbed his ankle and begged him to get out of there and save himself while he bled out on the grass.

So Derek ran, leaving everything behind as his pack bond to his dad severed. His last. With no one else left, his mother's alpha power had passed to him, but it doesn't do him any good.

He remembers a lesson he and his sisters had been taught ages ago. An alpha needs betas to survive, and betas need an alpha. It's a careful balance, and one cannot exist for long without the other. Derek, as the new Hale Pack alpha, has only managed to exist for however long he has existed by basically giving into his madness. If he'd fought it, tried to hold onto his humanity, he'd probably have self-destructed. Instead he gets this half-life. Whether that's better or not, well…

Opening his eyes, Derek stares up at the blue sky above and is about to sweep away the bad memories when a familiar scent reaches his nose. Leaping to his feet, he waits in a crouch as he scans the trees around him. At first all he can hear is the babbling of the stream next to him and the usual sounds of wildlife, but eventually he hears voices and the idling engine of a large vehicle. Combined with the scent still filling his nostrils, which makes his hackles rise higher than they've ever been, Derek knows who the voices belong to: hunters, the same ones who took everything from him. He'd given up on getting vengeance, but with the smell of gunpowder and wolfsbane in his nose, a white-hot rage suffuses through Derek's entire being.

He roars and races toward the scents, darting between trees until he is upon the hunters. They don't stand a chance. He has caught them unaware on a deserted road that cuts through the woods. They stand around a large black van, two men and two women, and only the older man has a weapon on his person. He is too slow on the draw, though, and before he can even reach for the gun that's in the holster attached to his hip, Derek has bitten through his neck. He spits the man's white-haired head off to the side before pouncing on the next hunter, the other man. He is a lot younger than the first, his hair short on his head and his eyes a piercing blue, but Derek barely notices.

The man attempts to run but doesn't get far before he meets a similar fate to the first, his head quickly rolling on the asphalt.

"Chris!" one of the women screams, her red hair almost as short as the second man's.

"Vic, we have to go!" the other woman yells, her long blonde hair whipping around her head as she runs around the van to the driver's door, either to drive away or retrieve a weapon.

Derek doesn't give her the time, nor does he give the redhead a chance to move from where she stands staring at the blue-eyed hunter's headless corpse. In twenty seconds, both women are dead as well, and Derek raises his muzzle to the sky and howls as loudly as he can. It's a sound filled with an awful combination of triumph and anguish. He has done it; he has got vengeance for his family after all these years…but he is still alone.

Always alone.

When the howl tapers off, Derek's breath evens out and he realises that there are more heartbeats close by. They emanate from the back of the van.

He rips open the double doors and finds five more people inside, all of them lying unconscious on the bed of the vehicle. His anger returns, but it's short-lived. A quick sniff tells him that none of these people are hunters, at least not the ones responsible for the murder of his family. Plus, their hands are all bound by thick ropes. Prisoners. The word slips into Derek's wolf mind. They're prisoners of the hunters. Not allies. But not enemies. Maybe innocent.

Derek is about to leave them and return to his cave, but then his eyes land on one of them, a boy. Something about him arrests Derek's attention, and he can't look away. He moves closer, following some instinct that he doesn't really understand. He drags the boy toward him so that his legs dangle out of the back of the van and he isn't hidden in shadow. He is maybe in his late teens. His hair is brown and soft-looking. He wears a brown plaid shirt and skinny jeans, and the skin that's visible is pale and dotted with moles but is otherwise smooth and unblemished. His scent is intoxicating, goes straight to Derek's head and sends him back to the past for the second time that day.

Cinnamon. That's the most prominent note in the boy's scent.

Derek's head fills with fractured memories of his childhood, but different ones from before. They're happy, featuring time spent helping his mother bake apple pies while she told him about mates.

That's it. That's why he is inexorably drawn to this boy.

 _Mate,_ Derek thinks. _He is mate._

Not wanting to waste another second, Derek hefts the unconscious boy into his muscular, furry arms, being mindful not to nick him with a claw, and then he is off, leaving the van, the other unconscious prisoners, and the bodies and separated heads of the hunters behind him. He can still taste the hunters' blood on his rough tongue but doesn't care. Right now his only priority is to get his mate safely back to his cave. After that, he doesn't know what he is going to do. Instinct is still all that drives him, keeping at bay whatever rational thought he could've mustered in this half-feral state.

When he reaches the cave, Derek carries his mate near the back of it. It's darker back here, but there is still enough light for him to be able to see clearly. He lays his mate on the ground and crouches down over him to stick his nose in his neck, getting more of his scent straight from the source. It's heady and delectable. It smells like home, a feeling Derek hasn't had in so long. It also causes a reaction in his body he has never had while in this form.

Between his legs, his furry black sheath engorges as arousal courses through him. He quickly shows pink, the tapered tip of his cock poking out.

This part isn't unfamiliar to him—it happens daily when he needs to relieve himself, but that's not the case this time. He doesn't need to piss…he needs to fuck. To mate and properly stake his claim over the unconscious form beneath him. His cock keeps growing, sliding out of its sheath until the opening stretches wide over the knot and all of his considerable length is out. He tenses and his blood-red cock smacks against his belly, thin pre-come spurting out of the pointed tip. He is already growing impatient, his mating instincts kicking into overdrive. They're raw and needy, likely made worse by the fact that he hasn't had any company in years.

Now he does. Once he has claimed his mate, he will never be alone again.

Derek proceeds to get rid of the boy's pesky clothing. He grabs the front of his shirt and pulls it apart, sending buttons skittering across the cave floor. Once that is gone, leaving the boy's top half bared, Derek gets to work on the jeans. He is even less careful here, tearing into the fabric over the boy's crotch. He adds one more button to the floor and then pulls the jeans rather violently down his legs.

This jostles his mate a lot, and it must be enough to finally begin rousing him from his slumber. He makes a quiet, confused noise, his brow scrunches up in a frown and the corners of his plump lips turn downward. Derek doesn't back off, just continues to wrestle his mate's jeans off of him until he succeeds and he tosses them behind him, not caring where they land. Last to go are his mate's black boxer-briefs, which he literally tears from his slender body, leaving the thin fabric in tatters. This pulls his mate completely from sleep.

* * *

Stiles sits upright as fast as a jackknife, his eyes wide as he stares blankly at his surroundings. Where he is doesn't sink in right away. His mind is still sluggish from whatever drugs those asshole hunters had injected him with to put him under and keep him from interfering or making too much noise as they took him away from his home. What was left of it. The memories come back slowly, and none of them are pleasant.

His life was just fine and dandy a year ago. Sure, he missed his mother something fierce after she died when he was eight, but he was getting by. He still had his dad and a small but close circle of friends.

Then his best friend, Scott, ended up getting bitten by a werewolf and the craziness started.

Stiles did his best to help, to keep things under wraps so no one ever found out about what happened, but he didn't know what he was doing, how best to help, and a couple days ago Scott caught the attention of the wrong sort of people. Those hunters…Stiles doesn't even remember their names, didn't really get a chance to learn who was hunting them down before it was too late. They were all too inexperienced and it was easy for the hunters to take them out. Stiles closes his eyes and shakes as he pictures Scott's dead body. Erica, Isaac, Boyd, his dad…all of them dead.

Stiles draws his knees up close to his body and wraps his arms around them, and it's the feeling of his own bare skin that clues him in to the fact that he is naked. His brain finally catches up then, and he opens his eyes again to find a huge hulking beast crouched right in front of him holding pieces of Stiles' underwear in its big hands. Stiles' first instinct is to recoil, but then he thinks some more and realises that the beast is a werewolf, they are both in a cave, and the hunters are nowhere to be seen.

He stares at the huge werewolf with his mouth hanging open. "What the hell…?"

The red colour of its eyes denotes that it is an alpha, and it's male, judging from the positively gargantuan red dick hanging out of the sheath between thighs as thick as tree trunks.

"Who are you?" Stiles asks, trying to keep his nerves out of his voice.

The werewolf cocks his head to the side and doesn't respond. He doesn't move at all, just keeps crouching there with his dick twitching and dripping pre-come all over the floor of the cave.

Stiles licks his lips and then pulls his tongue back into his mouth, embarrassed by the small wave of arousal that goes through him. He should not be turned on right now, not when he doesn't know what's going on and if he is in danger. With the werewolf in front of him, anyone else would say that yes, he is. But something about the werewolf staves off any panic that Stiles should be feeling.

"Can you understand me?"

A few seconds pass, and then the werewolf lowers his head in an imitation of a nod.

Progress.

"Okay…well, how did I get here? What happened?"

Stiles can't say what he was really expecting to happen. For this beast to actually answer him, maybe. Obviously, that doesn't happen.

"Can you shift back?"

The werewolf shakes his head this time, the movement travelling down the rest of his body to his cock, sending pre-come flying. Some of it lands on Stiles' feet.

Stiles tries a different tactic. Yes-or-no questions. "Did you save me from the hunters?"

Another nod, accompanied this time by a low growl that sends shivers down Stiles' spine.

"You killed them?"

Nod.

Stiles desperately wants to ask where they are. He looks around again and notes the signs of someone having been living in the cave. The werewolf, presumably. He asks for confirmation and gets yet another non-verbal affirmative.

He is about to ask another question when the werewolf moves closer. He drops the scraps of Stiles' underwear and stalks toward him low to the ground, looking at him like he is going to devour him. Stiles is conflicted. He still doesn't believe that the werewolf means to hurt him or kill him, and with his naked state and the werewolf's arousal as undeniable as it is, it seems obvious what the beast wants from him. Stiles doesn't say anything to deter him, not even when the werewolf grabs his ankles, drags him beneath his furry body and flips him over onto his front.

Not being able to see what's going on is disconcerting, but he doesn't have long to worry about it because, as soon as he is up on his hands and knees—maybe to scurry away, his body can't decide—he feels the werewolf's huge hands pull apart his ass cheeks and something slick and insistent prodding against his tight hole. Stiles jerks but it's too late to get away now. The werewolf has a good grip on him, and any feeble escape attempt he makes just makes him get rougher, sharp claws pricking his skin. Stiles doesn't know whether or not he has already drawn blood, but he makes himself stay still so that, if he hasn't, he won't.

He is fast distracted by the tongue wiggling around his hole.

There is no finesse to it. Stiles has seen rimming in porn and was curious, but he didn't expect it to feel like this. It would likely be different were it a human tongue lapping over his rim, but it isn't. The werewolf's tongue is long and strong, the slick surface rough. Once the strangeness passes, though, it actually feels pretty damn good.

Against his better judgment, Stiles starts to get into it and attempts to stop worrying about where he suspects this is going. If his suspicions are correct, the werewolf will want to get his cock in him, and something that massive going up inside his body when Stiles has only ever had a single finger up there before is alarming. So he doesn't think about it and just sinks into the sensation of being rimmed. He pushes back against the werewolf's muzzle and moans, his fingers digging into the dirty ground beneath him. His own cock has taken a liking to the proceedings too, hanging hard beneath him as he rocks slowly back and forth, never enough to make the digging of the werewolf's claws into the flesh of his ass any worse.

It goes on for a long time. Stiles loses track of just how long, his eyes closed and his head bowed as he just feels and listens to the obscene slobbering sounds coming from behind him. When, eventually, he loosens enough for that rough tongue to actually slip inside, he snaps his head up and releases a high-pitched mewling sound that he cuts off halfway through by biting a bit too hard into his bottom lip. He tastes copper, but the pain is quickly overshadowed by pleasure when the werewolf forces his tongue deeper— _damn_ , it's strong—and brushes it across Stiles' prostate.

It's such an alien sensation, having something foreign inside of him.

The werewolf's enthusiasm only ramps up, sliding his long tongue out of his maw and inside Stiles' tight hole, filling him up, giving him a little preview. Stiles gasps and is so turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. Instead of just staunchly avoiding thinking about taking the werewolf's cock, he doesn't think about anything, his brain filling with nothing but white noise from one second to the next. The pleasure crests then, with another brush of the werewolf's tongue over his prostate, and he sprays come onto the ground beneath himself.

His limbs nearly give out with the intensity of his orgasm—it's his first with another person, even if that person is currently in the form of a monstrous beast—but he is saved from smearing his stomach with his own release by the werewolf.

The werewolf retracts his tongue and shifts his calloused hands up to grip Stiles' waist instead of keeping his ass cheeks spread wide. He displays more sentience by giving Stiles some time to recover, and then, when his limbs aren't so shaky and he is able to support himself, the werewolf climbs over him. Stiles is so small in comparison that the werewolf doesn't even have to put any weight on him. Still, he feels the course hair covering the beast's front rubbing teasingly over his back, sending shivers down his spine.

The werewolf plants his hands on the ground in front of Stiles, curls more tightly over him and then Stiles feels it. That huge lupine cock sliding between his cheeks. _Here it goes,_ he thinks, his nerves and uncertainty resurfacing. He is still loose and mostly relaxed from the eager rimming he'd been given and his orgasm, so hopefully it shouldn't be too painful. He still has trouble believing he is doing this, but he gets the feeling that fighting it wouldn't do him any good. And besides, in the privacy of the cave, he can admit to himself that he doesn't want to fight it.

He wants this. He wants the massive beast on top of him to impale him on his thick cock, until his internal organs are rearranged and he is stretched so wide that he'll never again be as tight as he was that morning.

It's such a hot thought that Stiles actually rolls his hips back against the werewolf's cock, encouraging him. He both feels and hears the resulting growl this gets him, but it isn't an angry sound. It's akin to a cat's purr, more vicious-sounding but still conveying the werewolf's approval. Stiles does it again, and at the same time the werewolf thrusts forward, his big cock trapped between their bodies and spreading more pre-come up Stiles' back. It shouldn't be as sexy as it is.

For a minute or so they move together, the werewolf lowering his head to shove his wet nose in Stiles' hair, and then the main event really begins. The werewolf moves his hips back so that the tapered tip of his cock is pointed right at Stiles' hole, and Stiles works hard to keep himself calm and remind himself of how much he wants this when the werewolf begins pushing inside. He is demanding, not stopping once during the entire first tough slide in. Stiles is stretched wider and wider and his eyes sting with tears very quickly, and he is sure he hasn't even taken half of it yet. He breathes through it, his hole burning as the werewolf keeps going.

It's too much. Stiles' initial concern, before lust took over, was well-founded; it's never going to fit. His body moving of its own accord, Stiles lurches forward to get away from the invasion, but this elicits another growl from the werewolf above him, this one much less approving. The beast curls one of his hands over Stiles' shoulder and holds him in place, even pulls him back onto his cock at the same time he brings his own hips forward, filling Stiles up faster. It's like a punishment for disobeying. Stiles whimpers and whines, but nothing he does gets him out of it.

By the time he feels the werewolf's knot against his hole, Stiles thinks he might pass out from the pain. It's like he can feel the werewolf's cock in his throat, and he is just thankful that the werewolf didn't try to force the knot in yet.

 _Yet_. Fucking hell, Stiles still has that to come, doesn't he? Fuck.

_Fuck._

The werewolf gives him a few seconds to get used to being so unbelievably full, and then he starts pulling back again. Stiles is left feeling empty, like he has been hollowed out. The pain remains and it's still not exactly pleasant, but he has to admit that the sensation of that huge cock stroking over his inner walls is…interesting.

 _That's one way of putting it,_ he thinks wryly.

When the werewolf pushes back inside, it's more bearable, and with a few more thrusts the pain lessens more and more until it's more of a muted ache than anything else. Sooner than Stiles is ready for, the werewolf speeds things up, snapping his hips forward to fuck the human beneath him as hard as he can. And he can evidently do it _hard_ , reaching a speed only an animal could be capable of. Stiles is only saved from being sent scraping across the cave floor because the werewolf's hand is still on his shoulder, keeping him in place as his ass is assaulted.

The longer it goes on, the more Stiles likes it. His cock, which had gone soft again after his orgasm, perks back up when, on a particularly rough thrust, the werewolf nails his prostate dead-on. He wails his pleasure, with in turn just encourages his feral lover to go even faster, growling all the while. Soon enough Stiles feels his knot battering against his rim, seeking entrance. How on earth that is going to fit is lost on him, but the werewolf managed to fit his cock inside Stiles' body somehow, so he doesn't make another escape attempt. He just stays where he is on his hands and knees and rides the fine line between pleasure and pain.

Every time the werewolf shoves in to the knot, Stiles' hole stretches that little bit wider, gradually being forced open even more until, with a final push, the knot sinks home with a pop. Stiles screams so loudly he knows he has ruined his throat. The shock of it has him coming all over again, adding more come to the splatters he'd left on the ground a little while ago.

He blacks out.

The last thing Stiles feels is something akin to white-hot needles sinking into the meat of his shoulder.

* * *

_Mate, mate, mate._

The word is running on a loop through Derek's head as he lies with the little human. He won't be human for long. When he'd finally pushed his knot in and tied with him, he'd also bitten him to claim him as his, turning him at the same time. If he was capable of more complex thought he would probably feel bad about not asking first—his mother taught him better than that—but he just couldn't control himself. Instinct took over again, and it just felt right.

He can't make himself regret it.

He is so content, a feeling he hasn't experienced since his family was murdered. Derek licks over the bite to help it heal while he waits for his mate to wake up.

It takes less time that he thought it would; his knot hasn't even gone down enough to slip out of his ass yet.

"Wha…?" comes the soon-to-be beta werewolf's voice, low and confused.

Derek rumbles happily and keeps cleaning the wound, his tail thumping against the ground.

"You…what happened? I passed out?"

Derek squeezes the boy tighter for a second as his answer.

"Right. No talking. We really need to fix that, y'know."

The human says nothing else until Derek's knot has gone down, releasing a torrent of come to spill from his hole. It creates a large pool on the cave floor.

"That's…both hot and disgusting," the boy comments.

When he moves to sit up, he winces, both from the pain in his ass and his shoulder. He touches the latter and meets Derek's red gaze.

"You bit me?"

Derek gives his beastly imitation of a nod again.

"Will that turn me?"

Another nod.

"Oh."

The boy doesn't sound mad, so Derek figures it will all be okay. He has his mate now and the hunters are dead, so it has to be.

"Shift back. Please?"

Derek contemplates demurring once more, but his mate is officially claimed now, and his inner wolf pokes at his human half because he wants to make their happy. With great reluctance, Derek closes his eyes and, after many years, allows his human half to come to the forefront of his mind. The shift is painful because it's been so long. Bones crack and his fur recedes into his skin, and then a minute later he kneels on the ground in his human body, naked, his hair and beard wild and untamed.

His mate stares at him wide-eyed. "Wow. You're…you're kinda gorgeous. Even under all that."

Derek grins, muscle memory, pleased that his mate likes the way he looks.

"Can you speak?"

His grin fading, Derek clears his throat and opens his mouth to try. All that comes out at first is a dry croaking sound, but then he finds his voice. "Y-yes. Can."

"How long have you been living out here?"

Derek frowns. "Don't. Don't…"

"You don't know?"

The alpha shakes his head and gets annoyed when his hair gets in his eyes.

"Okay. Do you remember who you are? Your name, at least?"

That one is easy. Derek gives it.

"Derek." His mate says it as if he is testing out how it feels on his tongue. "I like it. I'm Stiles."

They talk for a long time, sitting across from each other like a face-off. Derek's words are short and sometimes jumbled, his sentences half-formed and almost childlike in their simplicity, but that's all the language he can manage after so long with his wolf in control. Stiles is patient with him, though, and when the sun starts to set outside of the cave, they've got a lot of things cleared up and have told each other about their lives, specifically how Derek came to live in the cave and how Stiles ended up in the back of the hunters' van. The bite on Stiles' shoulder has also healed completely, a sign that the transformation is complete.

Stiles must feel it happen, because he takes a shaky breath and covers the scar with his hand. "Is it done?"

"Yes."

"This is a lot to get used to. Mates…I know the concept because of Scott and Isaac, but I didn't think I'd ever have one, much less that I'd be a werewolf myself."

"S-sorry."

"It's okay. You'll have to help me, but I think it's for the best. Not that my friends being werewolves helped much when the hunters came, but I think I'll feel safer knowing I can defend myself better if anything like that happens again."

Derek makes a disapproving sound and moves closer to drag Stiles onto his lap. "No."

"No?"

"No. No hunters."

"Well, it's not like I'm gonna go looking for them, but if I ever have a run-in with them, I'm gonna have to defend myself."

Derek growls but doesn't say anything else.

When it starts to get cold, he shifts back into his alpha form and carries Stiles right to the back of the cave, where it will be warmest through the night. He wraps himself around his mate.

"Guess I'm staying, then," Stiles murmurs, patting Derek's barrel-like chest. "Not like I'd have much left to go back to anyway."

Derek rumbles happily. _Yes,_ he thinks. _Stay. Mate._

_Home._

**Author's Note:**

> This marks the return of Derek's glorious wolf dick: the supersized version! Seems I can't resist it for long… I regret nothing. :P I'd like to say a big thank you to iamthehungryshark for giving me this prompt. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be. If anyone has a prompt they would like me to tackle, feel free to leave it in a comment down below and I'll see what I can do. ;)
> 
> Stay tuned for my next PWP, in which twin alphas Derek and OMC Darren chase after the same gorgeous omega: their high school biology teacher, Mr. Stilinski. Top!Derek/bottom!Stiles/versatile!Darren.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. And please check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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